The Value of Memory
by Kitty Kat
Summary: The end of a relationship is a funny thing. Actually, it can be beautiful, sometimes more beautiful than the relationship itself, if done correctly.


**The Value of Memory**

And as much as you don't believe me because your ego will not allow it, I knew from the minute that I requested "our song" at the Year End dance that you were gone from me. It took me all summer to confirm my relentless doubts of our "relationship", and I guess this is just my half assed apology for humoring your charade for three long months.

It was a sweet gesture, I still believe. I had the nerve to spin my hair around my pinky, the way I was taught, and wait for the DJ's eyes to inadvertantly roam down to my low cut dress. And he just stared and said "sure, we want to make this your dance, of course we take requests." And that Boyz II Men song, the one that the people on VH1 said was almost everyone's wedding song in the 90s, it came over the stereo.

So the couples flocked together and the grade 9 girls ignored the music, as usual, and just kept flashing pictures of their vain little selves over and over again. But we didn't dance. We didn't dance the entire night, if I remember correctly. You promised me you still could. After I bought my gorgeous, exorbitantly expensive gown, and the elbow length gloves, and that damn tiara, you promised that you would dance, no matter who was watching.

But you just kind of looked at me and shook your head in shame. I knew you weren't shameful of me, I did look as beautiful as a princess, but yourself. And the last thing you needed was our shell of a relationship to get in your way.

So I danced by myself. No one paid much attention, and the only proof this ever happened is in the background shot of some random photo of Kiley Westenholder and the kid who's girlfriend only has one leg. I hid the picture in my bra and later ripped it up. She needed to get over the kid anyway.

I know what your eyes are saying. Why did I give you my virginity that night then? Why did I allow myself to be so vulnerable when I thought you were at your coldest? And I don't have an answer for you. I'd like to say that it didn't matter, that I wasn't as innocent as you thought. But I was. I totally was. My dad bought me a promise ring after I mentioned the idea to him because of an article in Seventeen about Jessica Simpson's father doing the same for her.

And I didn't want to be that stereotypical teenage whore. But I guess all the reminiscing and hearing the phrase "last time" about every two minutes made me feel somewhat dettached. And I knew more than anything I wanted to be with you, attached to you. So I smiled in the pictures, and I endured the entirity of that bullshit dance, and I opened my legs in the hotel room three floors above our after dance party.

It wasn't easy. No one ever said it would. Some of the more outgoing girls in my history class once asked if I had ever thought about how we'd do it. I lied to them quickly, blushing because I knew I had. I thought about it often enough for it to become a recurring thought. But you said you were okay, and you said it with such ease that I believed you. I always believed you. I believed you when you said that it would matter to you.

It's nothing against me, I understand. You have only apathy for everything in your life, myself included. It's a downward spiral that no one could prevent, except maybe some long haired kid two years ago in a crowded hallway at school.

You let me have this little part of your life throughout the summer, and that's why I stayed in your life. Those rumors weren't true. I wasn't scared of your disability. If that had been the case, I would've found my out months, almost a year before that. You sit here listening to me talk, but you know you were the one who broke up with me, even if you weren't the one to initiate the conversation. It was in your apathy, the way your body inched away from me instead of closer.

I don't know what we're going to do now. I don't know how to go about a normal day without you in it. I suddenly have so much free time dumped onto my lap that I can't unwind. Your name still flashes across my mind in lights when a love song comes on. I tried to hook up with Greg the gardener, but he didn't taste like you, and somehow I gave up halfway through. He called me a barrage of names before returning to the roses.

I still sent you that chain e-mail that put a smile on my face. I hope it put one on your's, too. You probably deleted it as soon as you saw the "Fwd:" in the subject title. I guess it's better that you didn't read it, anyways. You just would've raised your eyebrows and mock my taste in humor. Just like you mock my taste in everything, that is if you decide to care at all.

But I've just been following the latest trend of reminscing our past for old times' sake. I know I shouldn't put you through this, so I'll stop now. Thanks for your love and support. Your story will give me hope, and I'll share it with my children, and their children. I really do wish you the best. Stay strong, Jimmy.

Love Always,  
Hazel A.


End file.
